


The Eggnog Riot

by Sophia_Bee



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Historical, Charles You Slut, Christmas Crack, Eggnog, Hook-Up, M/M, Oral Sex, Riots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 23:25:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5352281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophia_Bee/pseuds/Sophia_Bee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1826. The American Military Academy in West Point. The day after Christmas. Cadet Erik Lehnsherr wakes up naked with a certain cadet Xavier sprawled across his chest. He can only blame the eggnog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Eggnog Riot

**Author's Note:**

> I have recently learned of a little-know piece of American history called the [Eggnog Riot or the Grog Mutiny](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eggnog_Riot) that took place on Christmas day at West Point in 1826. Any riot that involves whiskey and eggnog must be preserved as part of the lexicon of American history. And of course, it MUST be Cheriked. Happy holidays, drink MUCH eggnog. 
> 
> Thanks to my dearest Leafeylocket, who puts up with my headcanons that then become total Crack!Fic. And finds better words than 'suckle'. xoxo

Erik has always prided himself on being a model student and cadet. The son of a poor widowed mother, he is his family's pride and joy, the first to go to the United States Military Academy. So how did he end up waking in the arms of fellow cadet, Charles Xavier? He can only blame the eggnog.

"What have I done?" mutters Erik in a fog of confusion, his head pounding, sleep still pulling at him.

"What haven’t we done?" Xavier answers with a cheeky grin.

It was Logan's idea. Not just some whiskey but large quantities of it. Gallons. And the eggnog, oh the eggnog. Sweet and creamy and so easy to drink.

Erik probably should have said something but Howlett was a senior cadet and a formidable enemy if you made one of him. Erik was the son of a seamstress in West Point who earned her living mending soldiers’ clothes. Although his mother told him it was his smarts that had earned him a place at the academy, he could never shake the feeling it was only by the grace of God. Drunkenness would mean expulsion for Erik, so he should have spoken up. But the ring of young men who huddled in Howlett’s room were all in agreement that Christmas Day should be something special. And what made things special? Whiskey and eggnog. So when it came to suggesting to Howlett that this might not be the brightest idea, and maybe there were some cadets who didn’t have rich families who could bribe their way out of a court martial, Erik quite unwisely decided to keep his mouth shut.

Then again, if he had spoken up maybe he wouldn't have woken with a certain smug-looking Mr. Xavier splayed across his chest grinning as he runs a toe up the inside of Erik's leg.

Erik gulps.

It's not as if he'd never taken note of Mr. Xavier. He'd taken note many times. The way he laughed in such a carefree manner as he sat in the midst of a circle of their classmates on the green. The spark of intelligence in his blue eyes when he answered a trigonometry question about artillery in class. How his uniform fit so snuggly, obviously well tailored. Oh, Erik had taken note of Mr. Xavier indeed. But just note.

And then there was the complication of the whiskey.

Xavier cards his fingers through Erik's hair and Erik grimaces as some memories of the previous night break through. Shamus - the Irishman - telling him that one more cup of eggnog would not hurt. It was Christmas after all. The sound of Xavier laughing gaily from across the room, how it had sent a rush of warmth through him. He vaguely remembers walking up to his classmate, introducing himself.

"We will surely face court martial," Xavier says, just before he turns his face and sucks Erik's earlobe into his mouth. Erik gasps, a combination of fear mixed with arousal shooting through him. "I think Howlett should take the fall,” Xavier murmurs against Erik's neck.

"Yes." Erik gasps, not quite sure if he’s agreeing to Howlett’s fate or Xavier continuing to tease his earlobe.

The party had started small. Just nine cadets huddled in Howlett’s room passing the eggnog around. Erik remembers the bite of the whiskey, how it had warmed him, and he’d wondered if Howlett had mixed in a bit too much. How many gallons had they smuggled in? He had turned to Howlett and said something about the strength of the drink and was met only with a slap on the back and Howlett informing him to not be so timid when it came to imbibing. If it had just remained the nine of them, everything might have been fine. Erik might be waking in his own bed with his head pounding and without the complications of a warm, naked Xavier who is now rolling himself on top of Erik and kissing his way down Erik’s bare chest. The air of the room is cold and Erik knows he should be shivering from it, but he only feels hot, almost burning up, at the touch of Xavier’s soft lips on his skin

It had been thrilling to finally talk to Xavier. Erik had never felt brave enough before. Mr. Xavier had more in league with Howlett than Erik. He had roots far from Erik’s more common ones, the son of a wealthy family in upstate New York. Erik had often overheard Xavier regaling their classmates with tales of lavish parties; had once happened to stumble upon a conversation about his sister’s latest trip to Paris for the fashions. He knew that Xavier’s world was a far cry from the rundown storefront his mother maintained. The closest Erik had ever gotten to Parisian fashions was when the shopkeeper's wife had brought in a hand-me-down gown that may have originated in New York City.

The nine people had soon doubled to 18, then another five cadets showed up. The party had spilled into two rooms, and Erik had kept on drinking eggnog, gripping the hewn wooden cup in his hand, captivated by the way the words fell so easily from Charles’ mouth. His head had felt stuffed full of cotton, the room a bit wobbly, but he had leaned even closer, drinking down his eggnog, drinking in Xavier. Xavier had reached out, fingered the lapel of Erik’s uniform, leaned inwards. Erik remembers how he had swayed forward a little, wanting to be closer. Xavier had smiled, a grin that was bright and all encompassing. Erik vaguely recalls wondering exactly how much whiskey he had drunk.

It was all pleasant. Time seemed to slow. Erik remembers glancing around the room at one point as Xavier rubbed a hand up the sleeve of his jacket. There were flushed faces, sounds of laughter, one person holding up his cup and making a toast to his mother, or his betroved, or maybe a long-dead Revolutionary War hero. Erik can’t quite remember. Three other cadets had started up a game poker, their cards spread on the top of a trunk, a pile of money in the middle. Two men were passed out on the bed and Erik recognized them as Davis and Eaton. It was indeed a party.

Then someone unloaded a gun.

The crack of the pistol echoed. The whole room had turned to see Captain Hitchcock standing in the doorway, a look of indescribable fury on his face, a smoking pistol in one hand and a copy of the academy’s riot act in the other.

“It is probably best...” Xavier had whispered, leaning so close to Erik that they were almost touching, his breath warm, his voice gravelly, “that we get out of here.”

Erik had nodded. Xavier’s hand had gone to his thigh, a warm pressure and Erik had felt something rush through him, a sharp swell of arousal. The fact that their Captain had discovered their shenanigans suddenly seemed meaningless next to the feel of Xavier’s hand on his body.

They had slipped out the back door of the room before Hitchcock could take stock of all its inhabitants. Erik had followed Charles as he made his way across the darkened campus towards his rooms. Yes, rooms. Cadets like Erik Lehnsherr were given a bed in shared quarters and a trunk for their belongings. Cadets like Charles Xavier were given rooms.

When they had arrived, Xavier had quickly made his intentions clear, pushing Erik up against the door of his quarters, his hands firmly gripping Erik’s lapel and his mouth slamming into Erik’s in a wet and sloppy kiss. Erik had kissed him back without a second thought, whiskey and desire buzzing along his veins, his body not letting his brain take time to question this turn of events. He did not bother to think about the fact that he had gone from merely taking note of Xavier - admiring him from afar - to actually kissing him.

Xavier tasted of whiskey and he felt like the greatest pleasure Erik had ever experienced. So when Xavier had loosened Erik’s trousers, pulling his hard prick out, then sunk to his knees and stretched his warm, wet mouth around Erik’s erection, Erik did not whine in protest like he should have, but in ecstasy.

That was the last thing Erik could remember clearly. Now he is lying in Xavier’s bed, his body feeling pleasantly achey, his fellow cadet laving one of his nipples, his brain trying to make sense of the previous night while being entirely distracted by Xavier’s attentions.

“Hitchcock is quite bribable anyway,” Xavier says, lifting his head to look up Erik’s chest. “And it’s not like mother will have me shaming the family. I’ll just make sure you’re covered in the bribe, Lehnsherr. After last night, I owe you one, good fellow.”

 _Good fellow._ Is that was this is? A bit of fun between friends? He isn’t able to contemplate longer because Xavier is placing kisses along his ribs. Erik moans.

Charles places a hand on Erik’s chest and pushes himself up into a sitting position, straddling Erik’s hips, and Erik looks down to see that Xavier’s prick is hard, jutting out from his body. Erik knows he should push away, should tell Xavier that he is not that kind of man - the kind who is given to buggering - but instead he just licks his lips. Xavier is watching Erik with careful eyes, and with the emergence of Erik’s tongue, he grinds down hard onto Erik’s half-hard cock, causing Erik to jerk a little at the sensation and bite down fully on his bottom lip. Xavier offers Erik a wicked grin. He leans down and places a soft, sweet kiss on Erik’s lips, just enough contact to have Erik wanting more, then laughs. His blue eyes spark with amusement.

“It was as fine a Christmas party as any,” Charles says gaily, grinding down again on Erik’s prick, leaving Erik unable to respond in any manner except to groan. “One that will go down in history, I’m sure.”

“Yes,” Erik finally manages to gasp, a hand reaching up to tangle in Xavier’s hair, pulling him down for a brutal kiss. When Erik pulls away, Charles straightens himself up and smiles and that smile goes straight to Erik’s groin. “Good God, forgive me Lord, but please, just touch me,” Erik growls.

“Yes, sir,” Xavier says, giving Erik a smart, professional salute. “You will make a fine military leader someday, Lehnsherr, but right now, I’m afraid, you are all mine.”

Erik bucks upwards, seeking more pressure, his prick now fully hard. Xavier is right. Erik Lehnsherr will indeed make a fine military leader one day. And it was indeed a fine Christmas party. And yes, right now he is under the spell of one Charles Xavier. 

“Merry Christmas.” Xavier says, grinning wickedly as he rocks his hips again.

“Merry Christmas to you.” Erik manages to hiss back. “Now get to the fucking, Xavier.”

~fin~


End file.
